


Like a Storm Coming In

by coffeejunkii



Series: In Heat [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Mpreg, Phil Needs a Hug, Protective Clint, work/life balance issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:31:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Phil realize that changing the priorities in your life is hard, especially if you've given half of your life to an organization that commands all your attention. Expecting a baby teaches them that it's okay to be selfish sometimes, and that taking care of one another is more important than even the most urgent mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to Maple for answering about a bazillion pregnancy-related questions and for always cheering me on while writing this fic. Equally enthusiastic thanks to my beta Rurounihime for much brainstorming and editing help.
> 
> This fic is complete--coming in at about 20k, which is why I'm posting it in chapters. Chapters also give a better sense of time passing, I feel.

Clint bounces on his feet during the seemingly endless elevator ride. It's only six floors, but he hasn't seen Phil in a week. It's the longest they've been apart since Phil got pregnant. They've barely even spoken aside from mission updates and a brief phone call when Clint was on the Quinjet on the way back. The elevator finally makes it to the sixth floor.

“Oh, come on,” Clint grumbles as the doors that take their sweet time to let him into the hallway. A few steps, and he's in front of their door. Home. 

Clint takes care not to make too much noise as he lets himself into the apartment. It's late, and Phil might already be asleep. Clint toes off his boots. There's light spilling down the hallway. Avoiding the two floorboards that always creak, Clint crosses the short distance to the bedroom.

Phil is fast asleep, sprawled across the right side of the bed. He's on his back, one arm flung out into the direction of Clint's pillow. The other rests on his belly, which has a more pronounced curve to it than Clint remembers. A book has slid halfway off Phil's chest.

Clint takes a moment to study Phil and let himself feel the joy of being home. The way his heart aches, you'd think they were apart for a month. He wonders if Phil felt the same way during the past week. 

Clint pulls his sweater over his head and chucks his jeans and socks. When he sets a knee onto the mattress, Phil wakes. He tenses before his eyes settle on Clint. 

“You're back.” The rough edge of Phil's voice suggests he's been asleep for a while. He sets the book aside and holds out a hand, pulling Clint down next to him.

Their legs tangle, and Clint wiggles an arm under Phil so he can wrap both of them around Phil's shoulders. Phil holds him equally as tight, the swell of his stomach pressing into Clint. Eyes closed, Clint breathes in Phil's scent. He only realized how much it steadies him when he had to do without. It was particularly hard at night. Next time, Clint will sneak one of Phil's shirts into his away bag.

“Missed you,” Phil whispers into Clint's neck.

Clint wants to say something silly, like 'missed you more.' “Me too. It's good to be back.” He thinks that this hug should probably end—they're not prone to clinging to each other. But he doesn't want to. Phil doesn't move away, either. Clint runs a hand down his back and over his side until he can feel the curve under his palm. Phil shifts to give him more room. Encouraged, Clint nudges under Phil's T-shirt. He drags his palm in a gentle circle.

Phil lets out a shuddered sigh.

Clint stops, unsure. “Yes? No? Should I stop?”

“Yes. Don't stop.”

Clint laughs. “Got it.”

He keeps up the steady circles as Phil goes increasingly boneless. His arms slip away from Clint and he lets out pleased noises. 

Clint only stops when he worries Phil will fall asleep. It's perhaps too selfish, but he wants Phil to stay awake for a little while longer. He leans close to nuzzle Phil's jaw. “That feel good?”

“Better than.” Phil's hand folds over Clint's, ensuring he won't move it.

Clint stretches out next to him. “You think it's because we haven't seen each other?”

“Maybe.” Phil pauses in a way that suggests there's more to come. “I've done some reading. I missed you. A lot. More than I have when you've been away before. And I wondered if that was just me, or if there was more to it.”

Warmth spreads through Clint at the thought that Phil didn't handle this separation well, either. “And?”

“Not just me. From the second trimester on, Omegas respond more strongly to their Alpha's touch, especially if they're bonded. It's a—a comfort thing. To help with any strains the pregnancy might put on the Omega.”

“Fuck, I'm not leaving you alone again.” The words slip out of Clint's mouth entirely unbidden.

“Clint.” It's Phil's 'let's be reasonable voice.'

“No. It's not just you.” Clint pushes up on his elbow. “I barely slept, and that wasn't due to me being up in a nest. Well, the last three days it was because McMillan royally fucked up. But the rest of the time it was because you weren't there.”

Phil's eyes fix somewhere over Clint's shoulder. “I may have had some trouble sleeping, too.”

“See.” Clint extricates his hand from under Phil's shirt. Now that he takes a closer look, he can see the pinched lines around Phil's eyes. He traces them with his thumb. “And you need to sleep. It's important.”

Phil's gaze meets Clint's. “The work we do is important, too. I'm fine. Besides, I heard Hill gave you the day off. Which I know because she sent me an email warning me not to show my face at the office tomorrow. In all caps, so you know she was serious.”

Clint smiles for a moment, but he won't let himself be distracted. “I'm serious, too. No more separate ops until you're on desk duty in a month. And then I won't leave HQ unless there's really no one else who can do the job.”

Phil's lips press together. 

Clint can fill in everything Phil doesn't say. It's not the first time they're having this conversation, after all. “Please.”

Phil maintains his stern expression for another ten seconds before it dissolves into fond exasperation. “I'll try.”

Clint fits their mouths together. He means for it to be a quick kiss, but Phil has other ideas. They only pull apart when the kiss is about to tip over into something dirty and messy. The flush on Phil's cheeks is a good look on him.

Clint should probably let this go. “I know we've both dedicated our lives to SHIELD. And I have no regrets about that. But these next few months, we get to be selfish, okay? I refuse to feel bad about that.”

Phil nods.

Clint can't quite figure out what to make of the look Phil gives him, but he hopes that they're on the same page. He brings his hand back down to Phil's stomach. “Have you felt him move?”

Phil relaxes. “No. I thought I had, maybe, but I think that was the burrito I had for lunch.”

Clint snorts. “I'd hope you'd be able to tell those things apart.” He's glad he didn't miss it. Not that he'd be able to feel anything, but still. He wants to see the expression on Phil's face.

“All I know is that it's happening soon. And it's easy to miss at first, so—” A yawn cuts him off.

“So I think we should go to sleep,” Clint finishes.

“Probably.”

“Definitely.” Clint gestures to the bathroom. “I'll just...”

Phil waves him off. Clint goes to brush his teeth. When he returns, Phil has already gotten comfortable. Clint turns off the light before sliding under the covers. He wraps himself around Phil. Falling asleep with him is what Clint missed most. 

“Love you.”

Clint brushes a kiss across Phil's nape. “Love you, too, babe.”

**

Phil's side of the bed is empty when Clint wakes the next morning. Before Clint can wonder if Phil went on a coffee-and-bagel run, he hears the toilet flush and water running.

Phil wanders out of the bathroom a few moments later. “Someone decided that sleep is overrated.” His fingers scratch idly just under the elastic of his pajama pants.

“Itchy again?” Clint asks.

“When is it not?” Phil stops halfway between the bed and the door to the hallway, looking back and forth between them.

Clint holds out his hand. “Lie down. I'll make it better.”

Phil gives him a bright smile. “Oh, will you?” 

“You know I will.” Clint can't resist winking. Phil's laughter warms him all the way to his toes. He pulls Phil down onto the bed and helps him stack a few pillows behind his back.

“I was going to make coffee,” Phil points out.

“Later.” Clint kneels on the bed next to Phil and grabs the Jojoba oil from the nightstand. When he pushes Phil's T-shirt up, Phil surprises him by tugging it off entirely.

“Stains,” Phil explains. 

“Good call.” He tries not to let on how much he'll enjoy being able to get a good look at Phil. It's not that Phil is self-conscious about how his body is changing, but it's fall, which means it's too cold to walk around shirtless, and they're busy people, so there isn't exactly time to linger after showering or while getting dressed.

Clint tips oil into his palm. This time he remembers to cap the bottle. Unlike last week when half its contents dripped onto the rug. Clint rubs his hands together, then starts with small circles at the side of Phil's belly. He can see how dry Phil's skin is; they should do this every night. But so often they're too tired to do anything but exchange a few words before falling asleep. 

Clint gets more oil and continues to map Phil's skin. Phil's not too big yet, but he is very obviously pregnant. Clint can't deny getting a thrill every time people realize that. Especially when they also realize that he and Phil are bonded.

Once Clint spread oil all over Phil's belly, he draws his hands across hit in wide arcs. Phil's eyes closed a while ago, but he's alert, letting out small sounds of enjoyment. When Clint gently rakes his fingers down Phil's sides, he gets a groan in response.

“Do that again,” Phil instructs.

Clint repeats the movement twice before scratching a nail under the edge of Phil's pajamas. Phil squirms. Encouraged, Clint slips more fingers under the elastic, following its seam under Phil's belly. Phil squirms more and lets out a whole series of pleased little noises. It doesn't escape Clint's notice that Phil's cock begins to fill, easy to see under the thin cotton of his sleep pants.

“Feels good, hmm?” Clint pitches his voice low.

Phil looks at him through half-lidded eyes and gestures him to come closer. Clint leans in and nudges Phil's cheek. “Tell me what you want.” He continues to scratch his nails across Phil's skin. Phil's reaction is even better from up close: Clint can see how his breathing speeds up a fraction and the slight flush that begins to spread over his face.

“More of this,” Phil mumbles.

Clint tugs Phil's pants a little lower. “Wanna take these off and see where this can go?”

Phil nods. 

“Alright.” Clint moves down Phil's body as he takes off his pajama bottoms. After tossing them to the floor, he crawls between Phil's legs. He runs his thumbs up the inside of Phil's thighs, enjoying how that pushes a moan out of Phil's throat. He likes when Phil gets loud; it means his usual filters are off-line. It also means he's rather turned on already.

Clint spreads Phil's legs open by draping them over his thighs. “Okay?” He regrets not taking his boxers off because they're starting to feel tight.

Phil grunts his assent and shifts lower. “Come on.”

Clint skims the back of his hand along Phil's cock. “Yes?” 

An impatient whine is enough of an answer. Clint closes his fingers around Phil's cock in a tight fist and gives it a few rough strokes. Phil's hips nearly come off the bed.

“Jesus fuck, give me a warning.” Phil's hand smacks Clint's knee.

Clint laughs, and eases his hold, thumb teasing just under the head. “This better?” He draws a hand up over Phil's belly and palms his nipples, careful not to press down too hard.

Phil whines and arches into the various touches. 

Clint lets go of his cock and spreads that hand over Phil's side. “I'll make you feel so good.” He swipes over Phil's nipples again before drawing away to use that arm to take most of his weight. Clint drops a kiss to the center of Phil's chest and the hollow of his throat. When Phil tugs on his hair, Clint follows the motion up into a messy kiss. They press together as much as they can. Phil's skin feels much better than before, smooth and warm. Clint loves the way Phil's belly pushes against his stomach; he keeps rubbing his hand over the curve as they kiss.

When Clint pulls out of the kiss, he whispers in Phil's ear. “Gonna put my fingers in you.”

Phil draws in a sharp breath and pushes Clint's hand lower.

Clint sits back on his knees. He can't look away from Phil as he slides his fingers between Phil's legs. When the pads of his fingers circle over Phil's hole, they get coated in the same slick Clint only knows from Phil's heats. He hasn't felt it before during the pregnancy.

His confusion must show because Phil haltingly explains, “Hormones. I guess. It's, uh, a recent development.”

Clint pushes a finger into Phil, finding him open. Ready. “You feel like you're in heat,” he whispers, befuddled by what he feels. He adds another finger. Phil sighs softly when Clint presses them all the way in before drawing them back in a slow rhythm. The slick sounds make Clint's cock twitch. “I want...can we...” He's tugging at his boxers, trying to get them off with one hand. He searches Phil's face. Hopes for a nod. Only recently has Phil started to ask for sex again, and it's been mostly fingers and tongues since then, which is fine, but now Clint really desperately wants to fuck.

It takes a moment, but then Phil nods. 

“You sure?” Clint needs him to be sure. Needs Phil to want this as much as Clint does. He slides his fingers out of Phil so he won't be too distracted.

“I'm sure.” There are no reservations in his voice. “But keep doing this for a little while longer first.”

“Like this?” Clint picks up the same slow rhythm as before.

Phil rolls his hips into the movement. “Perfect.”

Clint watches Phil for cues as he continues, keeping at it until he has three fingers up to the knuckles in Phil and slick running down his wrist. He's amazed Phil hasn't come yet. When Clint has to squeeze the base of his own cock for the second time, he whispers a plea and watches Phil's eyes slowly come back into focus. “I'm gonna come,” Clint says helplessly.

“On your back.”

They switch positions. Phil settles in his lap. When Clint's cock breaches him, his nails dig into Clint's shoulder and he bites his lip. 

“Too much?”

Phil shakes his head. He takes Clint all the way in and then stops moving. His fingers dig deeper into Clint's skin. “Fuck,” he whispers.

Clint rubs Phil's sides. “Talk to me.”

Phil lets out a shaky laugh. “It's—it's a lot like being in heat. Without the crazy haze. But definitely with the same heightened sensations.” He circles his hips and shudders. “Wish you could knot me.”

Clint's mouth goes dry at the thought. He tries hard to stay still but he twitches up into Phil nevertheless. “Shit, sorry.”

Phil bears down more. “No, that was good—that was—keep doing that.”

Clint does it again, and they find something that works, twitches and rolls of hips and not much movement at all, but Phil's cock paints wet stripes across Clint's stomach nevertheless. Clint splays a hand over Phil's belly, remembering the last heat they shared, that one moment when warmth bloomed under his hand and led them here. He's coming before he realizes it, pushing up into Phil with short hard strokes.

Phil groans. His thighs tremble against Clint's sides. “Keep going.”

Clint follows his request even when his muscles start to burn. He can tell Phil is almost there. Clint teases over Phil's nipples, barely touching them, not wanting to tip this over into something painful.

“Harder,” Phil grounds out.

Unless that's something Phil wants. Clint takes a second pass, pressing down more. Phil whines and tightens around Clint's cock. When Clint scrapes his nail across Phil's nipple, Phil comes with a shout.

He's shaking through his orgasm, breathing heavily for a good minute after. Clint soothes his hands all over Phil and helps him to lie down. He tucks himself close and runs a hand over Phil's side and back until Phil finally settles. 

Clint keeps a close eye on him. This was a lot more intense than he expected, and he wonders if that was okay, all things considered. “You're really quiet.”

“'m fine.” 

Clint untangles the comforter from the foot of the bed in case Phil is cold. Phil hums with content as Clint tucks them both in. “You really okay?”

Phil looks steadily back at him. “Yes. I promise.”

“Okay.”

Phil rests his hand against the side of Clint's face. “I'm fine. Baby's fine. You were amazing.” His thumb brushes over Clint's cheek. “I've missed that. Us, together like that.”

Clint swallows. “Me too.”

“I know you have.”

When Phil pulls him closer, Clint doesn't hesitate to tuck his head under Phil's chin. It's not something Alphas do, usually. Too submissive. But Clint doesn't care, and he's glad that Phil doesn't, either.

“How about we sleep some more,” Phil suggests. “And then you cook me every single thing in the fridge.”

Clint smiles. “Sounds like an excellent plan.”  
** 

Two weeks later, Clint is in the final meeting for the Indonesia op they've been planning for a month. He listens to the familiar lilt of Phil's voice going over the intricate four-step plan one last time. Clint memorized it a few days ago, which gives him the luxury of not having to pay attention. Seeing Phil up there, authoritative through quiet strength, helps his mind focus on the mission. He feels himself slipping into that hyperaware mode in which the slightest change in his environment registers.

Phil fumbles his next sentence. To anyone else, it might have come across as a slight pause, if that. But Clint knows that something made Phil stumble over his words.

He tunes back in to what Phil is discussing in case there has been a change, or Phil has picked up on a flaw now that he's running the entire team through the plan together. Everything seems solid. Yet, Phil pauses again two sentences later, shifting from one foot to the other. Something is up. Clint tries to catch Phil's eyes, but Phil is deliberately avoiding his gaze.

After a brief Q&A, the room begins to empty. Clint hangs back, waiting until Phil has answered the last concern and they're alone.

Rounding the conference table, Clint hits the button that frosts the glass enclosing the room and steps close to Phil, who has a few folders clutched to his chest. “What happened?”

Phil looks at him, finally, and there's a swirl of emotions in his eyes that wasn't there a minute earlier. “The baby. I felt him.”

Clint's mission mindset crumbles. “You sure?”

Phil nods. “Figures, right? Timing couldn't have been worse.”

Clint honestly doesn't give a shit. He gently pries the folders out of Phil's grip and sets them on the table. He slides both hands under Phil's jacket, feeling over the curve of his stomach.

Phil grasps Clint's wrists. “We need to go.”

“We can take five minutes.” Clint's Alpha sense clamors at him to comfort, to protect. “Please.”

“Five, and no—” Phil breaks off with a quiet gasp. He pushes Clint's right hand lower. “Here,” he whispers, “Right here.” His eyes go out of focus.

Clint can't feel anything aside from the warmth of Phil's skin filtering through the cotton of his shirt. And yet, knowing that their baby is moving inside of Phil, and that Phil can feel him, finally, sends a wave of joy through him. “What's it like?”

“It's...I don't know. Kind of weird, to be honest.”

“Good weird, though, right?”

Phil smiles. “Definitely.”

Clint nuzzles him, tongue sneaking out for a few tiny licks. He wants to take Phil home. He wants to get him out of his Agent Coulson uniform, curl up on the couch with him, and make sure he's as comfortable as he can be.

It's completely irrational, but Clint feels with a burning certainty that this is what they should be doing. Not getting on a plane and flying halfway around the world to put their lives in danger.

“Have to go,” Phil mumbles without much conviction.

Clint draws him further into his arms and kisses him. He lets his instincts surge and overflow, all the needs and wants and impulses he has for Phil and their baby. Phil kisses him back with an equal force, pushing as close to Clint as he can.

They part, and Clint pets over Phil's belly with a few more gentle strokes. “Time to get our heads in the game.”

“Yes.” Phil sounds determined. “Thanks for this, though.”

“Anytime.” There's no way Clint would be able to lock his instincts away if he didn't have a moment to let them surface.

They take a step away from one another. Phil picks up his folders again. It takes another half minute before Agent Coulson stands in front of Clint.

“Wheels up in thirty,” he says.

Clint gives him a brief nod. “See you on the plane.” The calm focus that he draws on during missions settles in again. They can do this. Get out there and get it done.

Phil walks out of the room with swift steps. Clint squares his shoulders and follows.

**

Clint tosses and turns in his bunk. He's lucky to get his own tiny sleeping pod on the Bus, but that doesn't help him to settle down. Maybe he'd be able to sleep if Phil wasn't right above him in the office set aside for the agent in charge.

Clint hasn't had a problem sleeping apart from Phil on missions before. They usually stick to protocol when they travel with a large team, as they do on this assignment. But their circumstances have changed, and Clint knows that neither of them will sleep well, or at all, tonight. Clint's last mission, away from Phil, showed that clearly enough.

Perhaps it's unprofessional, but being sleep-deprived before an op starts is even worse. Besides, most agents on this assignment know about their relationship. They certainly know about Phil's pregnancy; at twenty-four weeks, it's rather obvious.

Clint rolls out of bed and grabs his pack. He takes care not to make noise as he moves through the plane. He stops at Lee's cot. She's awake the moment he stands over her and seems grateful when Clint offers his pod. She got shot a while ago and still has issues with her back. 

Walking up the spiral staircase, Clint braces himself for an argument. Phil can be a stickler for the rules, after all. He knocks, and opens the door when he's prompted. It doesn't even surprise Clint that Phil is still up, sitting at the desk, papers spread out around him. At least he took off his jacket and tie.

Phil looks pleased to see him. “What can I do for you?”

Clint sets down his pack. “Came to see how you're doing.”

“I'm fine. You should be asleep.” It's a gentle reprimand. More handler to agent than partner to partner. 

“So should you.” Clint hopes Phil can hear his concern.

“I'm almost done.”

Clint rounds the desk. His hands settle on Phil's shoulders. He doesn't even need to start kneading the muscles there to know that they are tense. Looking at the files Phil is working on, Clint says, “Those don't seem related to our op.”

Phil hesitates. “No. I'm catching up on a few things.”

Clint digs his thumbs into Phil's muscles. Phil's head tips forward. “Anything time-sensitive among those?”

“I don't like being behind.”

Their conversation could easily spiral into an argument, one they've had before. But Clint doesn't want to argue. He wants Phil to rest. “Do you think you could stop for now?” He runs a hand down Phil's back, rubbing circles into the small of it, where he finds more tense muscles. 

Clint can almost hear the thoughts running through Phil's brain. Before, Phil would have told Clint to get comfortable and wait until he was done. It's still hard for Phil not to carry on as usual, even though he's reminded with every move that he isn't responsible only for himself any longer.

“I can finish them later.” Phil caps his pen and starts gathering his files into folders. “I thought you were sleeping in one of the pods downstairs.”

“Tried to.”

“Couldn't fall asleep?”

“No.” 

Finished with sorting his files, Phil shuts down his laptop. “I—I may have been working for the same reason.”

“I wanna stay here, with you.” Clint braces himself for having to defend that decision.

“I'd like you to,” Phil replies without hesitation. “Even if it's against protocol.”

“Fuck protocol.”

“I wrote the majority of that protocol.” It's more teasing than rebuke. Standing up, Phil stretches and lets out a groan. “My back's killing me, and this one isn't even that big yet.” He pats his belly.

“He's big enough.” Clint can barely restrain himself from running his hand over Phil's stomach. He wants to touch it all the damn time, but he doesn't want to drive Phil crazy by pawing at him constantly. Phil asks for his hands on him often enough. Clint can live with that.

“I'm going to get ready for bed.” Phil points at the couch. “That folds out. Would you mind?”

“On it.” Clint moves the coffee table out of the way and bends down to check the fold-out mechanism. 

He has set up the bed and stripped down to his boxers and a T-shirt when Phil returns from the bathroom. It's Phil through-and-through, all traces of the agent gone. His exhaustion is easy to see and he steps close to Clint, murmuring, “Come here.”

Clint holds him, stroking down his back and sides. “Hey.”

“Glad you're staying with me.”

“Me too.” They stand together for a minute, letting the day fall away. “Let's go to bed.”

They settle into their usual positions, and Clint is asleep a minute later.

**

Clint wakes to the alarm on his phone. He set it with half an hour to spare before they have to get up because Phil needs longer now to get going.

Phil is still mostly asleep, stretched out along Clint's side. It's almost like waking up at home, except that their mattress is much more comfortable than this couch. Clint rolls onto his side and pushes his nose into Phil's neck to breathe in his scent. It has been shifting in subtle ways in the past months, becoming fuller, more like them together rather than just himself. Clint loves it, but it embarrasses him that the first thing his instincts push at him when he picks up Phil's scent is _baby_. He knows their baby will smell like them, and that's probably what he's picking up. But that's not all there is to Phil. Not even now. That's why he hasn't told Phil about the changes in his scent. Clint doesn't want Phil to think he only cares about the baby. 

The alarm beeps again. With great reluctance, both of them get up. Before Phil slips way into the shower and into work mode, Clint pulls him close. He sneaks a hand under Phil's T-shirt, drawing a palm over his belly in wide slow circles.

Phil's eyes close. He nudges his nose against Clint's jaw. “Love it when you do that.”

Warmth unfurls in Clint's chest. “Come back to me in one piece and I'll do it as often as you want.”

Phil smiles. “Will do, as long as you promise to do the same.”

Clint's prone to take some unnecessary risks. He already cut back on those after he bonded with Phil, but he's going strictly by the book this time. Well, unless everything goes to shit. “Promise.”

**

Not quite everything goes to shit, but it's a close call. Clint didn't get shot at and he doesn't have any broken bones, so he got off easy. Everyone is alive, and they accomplished what they set out to do, nevermind the total scramble in the middle. Phil is completely fine; not even a scratch on him. That's the most important part.

Phil is on desk duty from now on until he gives birth. It's a relief. Clint sends a stern email to Hill letting her know that he isn't available for any overnight ops anymore unless it's a priority-one mission. SHIELD has other talented snipers, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Now that Phil is out of the field, he takes on more responsibilities at HQ. In addition to being in charge of prepping a greater number of ops, he takes on supervision of a flock of first-year agents that are only a few months out of the academy. Clint agrees to oversee their sniper training. It means he and Phil get to spend time together for work-related reasons. 

Clint continues to make sure that Phil eats and sleeps enough. Sometimes it feels silly to carry a tray to Phil's office each day, but he made a promise when they first found out about the pregnancy, and he's going to stick to it.

He shoulders this day's lunch—sandwiches and soup—through the door when he realizes that Phil is slumped over his desk, fast asleep. From the looks of it, he has been asleep for a while, and he doesn't wake at the noise Clint makes when setting down the tray.

Stepping close, Clint rubs a hand across Phil's shoulders. “Hey.”

Phil grunts, followed by a groan.

“Slowly,” Clint instructs and helps Phil to sit up. His back must hurt.

“Oh, fuck.” Phil gingerly leans back into his chair. His eyes are squeezed closed.

“Bad?”

Phil doesn't respond, but his careful breaths are answer enough. 

“Think you can make it to the couch? It'll help if you can lie down.”

Phil feels for Clint's arm and pulls himself up. Clint helps him shuffle the few steps to the couch. Phil hisses in pain a few times as they work together to help him lie down on his side.

Clint hovers, uncertain whether his touch would help or not. He settles on stroking over Phil's hair. “Better?”

Phil's hand flops in an indecipherable way. After a few minutes, his breathing is easier, and Clint draws his hand over his back. It seems to help.

“I brought lunch. Soup's probably cold by now, though.” 

“Thanks.” Phil opens his eyes. He looks sheepish. “Didn't think I was that tired.”

“'s okay. Your back's going to hate you for the rest of the day.”

Phil sighs. “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

 _No, you don't_ is on the tip of Clint's tongue because there's no way Phil will be mobile again that soon. “Lunch first, okay?”

“Could you send an email saying I'll be late?”

“Sure.” Clint walks over to Phil's desk and pulls up his calendar to see who he needs to email. He uses Phil's account to explain that he might miss the meeting and asks to forward all notes. “Done.”

“Thanks. Help me sit up.” Phil holds out a hand.

“You sure?” 

Phil impatiently waves his fingers. Clint takes them and helps Phil get into an upright position. He pushes a pillow behind his back, pleased when Phil lets out a content noise. They distribute the food between them and start eating.

“Any reason why you're so tired?” Clint asks halfway through his sandwich.

Phil points at his belly.

Clint rolls his eyes. “I know, but beyond the usual, I guess.” He wants to make sure Phil isn't getting sick. It's flu season, after all.

“Maybe a growth spurt? I don't know. I got enough sleep last night.”

That's true. They slept about eight hours. “We can go to bed early.”

“We don't—” Phil halts. The protest against not being over-worked is ingrained. Clint knows it well. But they've both had six months to start unlearning that habit. “Maybe we should.”

**

Four days later, Fury personally requests Clint as part of an op. It's an unexpected opportunity, he explains. He wouldn't bother Clint if any of SHIELD's other top three snipers were on base, but they're scattered around the globe. Clint looks at the mission brief, which has been put together in a day. Impressively fast by SHIELD's standards, and an indication of how much Fury wants these guys taken out. The schedule promises a fast in and out, around twelve hours from lift-off to the return flight to HQ. Wheels up is set for 05:00 the next morning, which means that he should be back in the evening.

Clint agrees. 

The mission goes off without a hitch. It's a quick job, as promised, but the weather doesn't play along. A vicious snow storm delays their departure for nearly six hours. It's no one's fault, but Clint is pissed nevertheless.

They finally leave at eleven pm local time. Clint dozes off an hour into the flight, but the vibration from his phone wake him soon after. When Phil's name shows up on the screen, Clint's hand trembles even though he knows that if something were wrong, it wouldn't be Phil calling him.

Still, Clint answers the call by asking,“Are you okay?” He gets up and makes his way to the cargo hold. He doesn't want everyone listening in on his conversation.

“Yes, we're both doing well. Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you by calling.”

Clint settles between two crates. “Nah, it's fine. Just didn't expect it. Isn't it almost four am for you? Why are you up?”

“Couldn't sleep. Tried. But that didn't work. I'm watching a House Hunters marathon.”

“Don't yell at the TV again when someone decides granite countertops are necessary for survival.”

A smile weaves into Phil's voice. “I'm in a state of complete zen.”

“Uhuh.”

“I wanted to tell you about the check-up.”

In his focus on the mission, Clint forgot about that. “Oh, yeah. Tell me.”

“They ran those tests, remember? For genetic defects and so on. They're all negative.”

Clint smiles. It's what they expected considering their family histories, but you can never know. “That's good. I'm glad.”

“Me too.” Phil pauses. “Woodhall asked me about our plans for the birth. If I was attached to a natural birth, specifically.”

They hadn't talked about this yet. Not seriously, anyway. “Uhuh.”

“He said...given my age and that nothing about me is exactly textbook Omega, labor would probably be prolonged and difficult and there's a high chance of complications during the birth. So he recommends that we go for a c-section.” Phil's voice goes soft at the end.

Clint rubs a hand over his eyes. He understands why this is on Phil's mind, but he's tired. His brain-to-mouth filter isn't at its peak. “How d'you feel about that?”

“I don't know. Mostly, I want the baby to be fine.”

“You need to be fine, too, Phil.” Clint draws his knees up. He's keenly aware of the distance between them. He wants to pull Phil into his arms. Breathe in his scent.

“I will be. I guess I'm okay with it. I have to admit that the idea of giving birth has been intimidating. Although nothing could be worse than Buenos Aires, right?”

Clint has seen videos on YouTube that lead him to believe Phil's wrong in that assessment. “Probably not.”

“Not that a c-section is a walk in the park. But at least it's more predictable.”

Clint knows that Phil probably tells himself that for reassurance. “Whatever happens, I'll be there with you. You don't have to do this alone.”

“I'm glad you'll be there.” Phil pauses. “There's something else. It's not a big deal. But it surprised me—well, no. I wasn't surprised. But how I felt when I heard, that's, that surprised me.”

Phil rarely trips over his words. But he seems willing to share whatever he discovered, so Clint hopes he can find the right words to help Phil along. “Okay. You don't have to tell me now. As long as you and the baby are fine, we can talk about it later. But I can also stay on the line with you and listen. And then whatever it is, we can figure it out when I get home.”

It takes Phil a moment to respond. “It's another thing to do with my screwy Omega genes. Woodhall thinks that nursing is out of the question. That I won't be able to—they could give me extra hormones, but there's a slight risk, and I don't...I'm not taking any risks.”

Clint wishes he could see Phil's face. Touch him. “I thought...I've seen you read reviews about formula, so I assumed...”

“So did I. It's the most practical solution, especially once I'm back at work. I never even considered—but when they told me it's not even a possibility...”

“Then you realized you may have wanted to?” Clint finishes.

Phil lets out an affirmative sound.

“I'm sorry.” Clint regrets that he wasn't there when Phil got the news. He has no doubt that Phil took it in stride, shrugged it off for the rest of the workday, and then told himself it was better this way. But the fact that he's up at four am watching TV suggests it's weighing on his mind.

“I—” Phil stops and draws in a breath. “Wish you were here now.”

Clint closes his eyes. “Me too. Four more hours 'till HQ.” He wants to be with Phil right now. Take the remote out of his hand, turn the TV off, and guide him back to bed. Rub his back, or make out, or anything to get Phil's mind off what he learned today.

“You'll be here just in time for me to get ready to go into work.”

“Ask for a day off. I'll be off, too. We can sleep in, order takeout—”

“Can't. I'm supposed to run your debrief, and there's the preliminary quarterly review. But we can probably get home by early afternoon.”

Clint sighs. Phil's right. Sleep will have to wait a little longer. “If you're not going to sleep anyway, could you...could you be there when I arrive?”

“I'd love to.”

A few moments pass in which only their breathing fills the silence. Clint hates to break it because it's comfortable, familiar even. But there's something that's been weighing on his mind during this mission. He hates to pile more on Phil, but since they're both hurting already, it might be good to get one more painful thing out of the way. “We need to think about what happens if one of us doesn't come back from a mission.” Thinking about this hurts. Saying it out loud hurts even more.

“Or if neither of us comes back,” Phil adds softly.

“Or that.”

“Because I don't think I can stop going out into the field with you. SHIELD won't let us, and—” Phil pauses. “I like being the on who keeps an eye on you in the field.”

Clint presses his hand against his chest. “I like that, too.” It's all how of this started, after all. Phil looking out for him in ways that were unexpected and unfamiliar to Clint. “I don't want our kid to go into the system. Ever. We have to make sure that won't happen.”

“I don't want that, either. We'll find someone.”

This would be easier if either of them had any close relatives left. But they don't. And the problem with working in a somewhat secret organization is that most people you know have risky lives, too. “Yeah.”

“This is good motivation for taking fewer risks, too.” It's a somewhat pointed remark.

“Hey, I didn't jump off any buildings this time.”

That gets a laugh out of Phil. “You only do that when I'm around.”

Clint hums in assent. He doesn't really jump off buildings. Not a lot, anyway.

“I should let you go.” Phil sounds a little better.

“I might actually be tired enough to nap.”

“I've become a big fan of naps recently.”

Clint smiles. Naps have become almost sacred to Phil over the last few months. “Four more hours.”

“Closer to three hours and forty-five minutes.”

It's such a Phil thing to say. Clint whispers goodbye, cherishing the fond way in which Phil wishes him a good night.

**

They don't get home before six pm the next day, and Phil falls asleep while they're watching TV after dinner. He barely wakes when Clint helps him to bed. It's twenty past eight; too early for Clint to be tired even though he also hasn't gotten a lot of sleep in the past day. He could finish watching the movie they started, but Phil sleeps better when Clint is next to him. 

After an unsuccessful attempt at reading, Clint slides down the bed and gently leans his cheek against Phil's stomach. He settles a hand near the top of the curve, thumb moving back and forth. “Hey, little hawk, how're you?” He doesn't expect a response, but he read that talking to the baby is a good thing. Phil does it all the time when they're home—he narrated the best way of making coffee to him the other day.

Clint is dozing when something nudges his cheek. He blinks, certain that he's slipped into a dream, but another nudge follows. Clint keeps very, very still and waits. It happens again. He draws his hand closer and rubs the spot right next to his face. “Hi baby,” he murmurs and then swallows hard. His throat closes up. He's waited for this for such a long time. There's a roll under his hand and he follows it. “Saying hello, hmm? Hi. It's—it's your dad. You've probably heard me talk to you before.”

“Clint?” comes a sleepy voice from above.

Clint shimmies up the bed until he faces Phil. “I can feel him.” He searches for the movement and gently presses in. “Here, right?”

Phil's hand closes over his. “Yeah.”

Clint pushes closer to hide the stupid smile on his face. “He's moving a lot.”

A quiet laugh answers him. “I've told you about that.” Phil kisses Clint's temple. “Probably your genes. All the wiggling around.”

“Does it ever bother you?” 

“You get used it. It still catches me off-guard sometimes. I'm not looking forward to when he is big enough to run out of room.”

Clint hopes that Phil won't be too uncomfortable during the last stretch of the pregnancy. “That's some time off yet.” He keeps rubbing Phil's belly even after he doesn't feel anything anymore. “You think he fell asleep?”

“Probably. Your doing, most likely.”

“How so?”

“You know how—how during heats, it helps when you touch me? I think it's the same for the baby. It definitely has an effect on him. Makes him calm down.”

It's odd to hear. Clint knows that as an Alpha, he has certain effects on Phil, especially during a heat. There are pregnancy-related things, too, like their increased need to stay close, especially at night. But he still feels uncomfortable with the knowledge that he can have such a direct impact on Phil and their baby. It's one of those moments when Clint is at odds with his Alpha identity—outside of heats, he has never been too keen on the dominating and claiming aspects. “Is that a good thing?”

Phil smiles. “Very good. Especially when you put your hands where the baby can feel them, too. It's....I don't know how to describe it. Remember how wound up I was during the debriefing on the flight back from Indonesia, and you pulled me aside for ten minutes and all you did was push both your hands under my shirt?”

Clint feels his cheeks flush. That wasn't his proudest moment, but his instincts tugged at him with such force that he couldn't ignore them. “Uh, yeah?”

“That was—it was like everything was turning warm and syrupy. It was exactly what I needed.”

“'m glad.” He still feels a little embarrassed about it, but it's good to know that it helped Phil. “Tell me when you need me to do that again.”

Phil's fingers trace over his cheek. “I will. But you know that when we're home, you can always touch me, don't you? Even when I don't ask. If, for some reason, I don't want you to, I'll tell you. But if you want to see how the baby's doing, or talk to him, then please go ahead.”

Clint wonders if Phil picked up on the way he holds back, how he doesn't reach for Phil as often as he'd like. “I—I do know that.”

“Good. I'll probably fall asleep again soon, but if you want to keep talking to the baby, I don't mind.”

Clint hesitates, then shoves his reservations aside. Phil explicitly told him it was fine. He siddles down the bed again. “Hey there,” he murmurs. “It's me again. I wanted to tell you a few more things...”


	3. Chapter 3

At first, Clint doesn't notice that their lives move beyond the usual level of stress. Their jobs are always demanding, after all. Even Thanksgiving passing by without much notice isn't that unusual, and at least he gets to share a turkey dinner with Phil in the cafeteria. That's more of a celebration that in some other years. Phil starts working on coordinating a three-city op in Asia the week after, and their sleep patterns slowly drift apart. Clint gets up when Phil goes to sleep. Sometimes they get an hour in bed together in the mornings; at night, Phil leaves for HQ before Clint gets home. At least they manage to share a meal once a day—dinner for Clint, breakfast for Phil.

It's not enough. Clint falls asleep every night because he's exhausted, but he wakes up frequently, disoriented when Phil isn't next to him. He usually sends a text to check in with Phil and goes back to sleep when Phil replies. It's harder on Phil, who has permanent dark circles under his eyes. He doesn't complain, but Clint worries. He tries to find a solution to their disjointed sleep cycles, but both of their schedules are shaped by factors beyond their control: Phil's needed on the op, and Clint has to prepare their baby agents for final exams. That means extra training sessions and individual consultations to make sure they pass.

Resigning himself to their parallel lives—at least for a few weeks—Clint makes the best of the time they have together. He makes sure that he's at home long enough to let Phil fall asleep next to him. Some days, it's the only physical contact they have. Clint curls around Phil and draws gentle circles over his belly to get the baby to settle. He waits until Phil's breathing evens out and lingers as long as he can to give Phil the chance at a few hours of good sleep before his body notices that Clint has left. 

Three weeks into their new routine Phil has a check-up. Clint tapes reminders into his bow case and gym locker so he won't forget, but when the day arrives, he's still late because it takes longer than expected to set up the obstacle training course for the baby agents. He gets to the exam room just as Woodhall wipes the ultrasound goo off Phil's belly. 

“Sorry I'm late.” Clint moves next to the exam table. “Hey. Everything go well?”

Phil gives him an unreadable look. “Fine.” He stands and tucks his shirt into his pants.

Woodhall gestures to the door. “We should talk in my office.”

Clint looks back and forth between him and Phil. “Did something happen—is something wrong?”

Phil doesn't respond, walking resolutely through the door and into the corridor. Clint feels a chill swipe over his skin and hurries after him. “Wait!”

Clint catches up with Phil in Woodhall's office, the doctor close on his heels. Phil still won't look at him, but he lets Clint take his hand.

Woodhall sits and opens a folder, spreading a few ultrasound images in front of them. When he starts discussing them, Clint understands Phil's muted reaction. Woodhall is kind and patient in breaking to them the baby is too small for thirty-two weeks, and while it's not anything dangerous yet, it could be if Phil doesn't put on more weight soon. Clint moves his chair closer and rubs across Phil's back. 

Phil puts on his agent face and asks specific questions about the best course of action from here on out while all Clint can do is stare at his toes and feel like a gigantic failure for not taking better care of his bondmate. He may not put much stock in his Alpha identity, but he does believe that it's his responsibility to take care of Phil. Especially now that Phil is carrying their baby.

Clint forces himself to pay attention to Woodhall's recommendations: increase physical contact, find a way to sync up their sleep schedules at least partially, and better nutrition. 

They walk out of Medical in silence.

When they get to the floor where Phil's office is located, Phil says, “I'm going to go home.” He sounds defeated.

Clint is quick to nod, but then remembers his schedule. His first-years have their final performance tests today, overseen by Fury and Hill, followed by a discussion of their results and further specialized courses. Unless he's willing to screw over close to thirty people, Clint cannot go home.

Fuck.

Phil pats his arm. “It's okay. I'll probably nap anyway. Text me if Napier actually manages to hit the bull's eye.” 

Clint tugs Phil out of the main hallway into a less frequented corridor. “I will. And you let me know if you need anything.”

Phil doesn't look at him. “We can talk later.”

A heavy weight settles in Clint's chest. He pulls Phil into a hug. It's all he can do for now—the only way he can express how sorry he is and how much better care he'll take of Phil in the coming weeks.

Phil gently but firmly pulls away. “See you tonight.” He walks away without looking back.

**

Throughout the day, Clint is able to lock away all his worries about Phil and their baby, but the moment he leaves HQ, they come rushing back.

The apartment is dark when he gets home. When Clint steps into the bedroom, he turns on the light on the nightstand opposite of where Phil is curled up under the covers. He rounds the bed and crouches down. Phil is awake, but it's hard to tell what mood he is in.

Clint brushes a hand over his head and settles it at his nape, fingers scratching lightly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” The greeting is half-swallowed by the comforter Phil has pulled up to his nose.

“Have you been in bed all day?”

Phil lets out an affirmative noise. “Called in for tonight, too. Not much to do anyway. Figured I can take day—night—off.”

Clint pushes into Phil's space, close enough that their noses touch. “I'm sorry, babe.” There's so much more he wants to say, but he doesn't know how.

“Not your fault.” 

There's something about the way Phil says it that makes Clint weary. “Not yours, either.”

Phil lets out a bitter laugh. “Please. You heard what Woodhall said. More rest. Better nutrition. Less stress.”

“He's said that at every check-up.”

“He has, and maybe if I'd fucking listened, this wouldn't have happened.”

Clint straightens. Phil has curled himself even tighter into the comforter. Hiding away. “You did the best you could. We both did. The past few weeks have been insane—”

“Exactly. And it's not going to change.” Phil struggles to sit up, now clearly agitated. “It's never going to let up or be less stressful. Because that's what working for SHIELD is: it consumes you.” He drops his head into his hands. “Sometimes I wish—I just want a break. Want the way things were before. When my back didn't kill me and I could eat whatever I want and have coffee and didn't feel unsteady on my own two feet.”

Clint has waited for this kind of outburst. He's seen how everyday things have become more challenging for Phil; has seen the frustration even when he hasn't said anything. It still stings to hear these things—Clint is well aware that he brought up the idea of having a child first and that it took Phil a while to come around to it. He needs to believe that they made the right choice, even in moments like this.

Phil drops his hands and exhales. “I didn't mean that.”

“I think you did,” Clint counters softly. “And that's okay. It's a lot to deal with. Lots of change.”

“It is. More than I expected.”

Clint wraps his arms around Phil, who tucks his head under Clint's chin. “You don't regret it, right?”

“No. Not even when he grinds a foot into my bladder at four am. Or 3pm on my current sleep schedule.”

“Ouch.” Clint sometimes wishes he could feel what it's like to have their baby move inside of him, but he's glad he doesn't have to live through those more annoying moments.

“Why do you think I get up three times a night?”

“Right.” Clint grasps for something else to say. “It was nice to see him on the ultrasound pics again. I know the rest of the check-up was crap, but I liked that part. Hard to believe he looks like a little person already. Those tiny fingers. And his nose.” Clint smiles at the memory.

“Tiny toes, too.” Phil rubs over his belly. “Yeah, you know we're talking about you. That was an impressive punch.”

Clint leans down and pushes up Phil's T-shirt to press a few kisses near his navel. “Go easy on your daddy. He's doing a lot of work hauling you around everywhere.”

Phil's hand twists in Clint's hair. 

Clint rests his cheek against Phil's belly and looks up at him. “I wish there was more that I could do for you.”

“You do plenty.” Phil's eyes dart off to the side. “Be there when I need you.”

“I can do that. Do you want me to lie down with you?”

Phil nods.

Clint strips down to his boxers and climbs into bed. He folds his body around Phil, his back to Clint's chest. Clint buries into Phil's neck, the bonding scar right under his lips. Instinct takes over. He licks over the spot again and again until Phil has gone pliant in his arms. The bond thrums between them. Clint usually isn't aware of it, but he needed the reminder of that tether and what it stands for—the commitment they made and the certainty that they fit well together.

Phil laces their fingers together and holds them next to his chest. “We need to set up the nursery. And think about what happens after he's born. Once I'm off paternity leave.”

“I was thinking of taking some paternity leave, too. A few weeks.” 

“I'd love that.” Phil squeezes his fingers. “I know we already filed the request for early admission to the daycare, but...”

“But what?” Clint encourages gently. 

“How can we give him away to strangers when he's only a few weeks old? He'll still be so little.”

When they filed that request, Phil had been pregnant for only about five weeks, and the whole idea of having a baby had not entirely sunk in yet. But Clint feels much more protective of their baby now that he's felt him and seen him on the ultrasound. He cannot even imagine how much stronger these feelings are for Phil. “We could hire someone to look after him here at our place. Or we could take more time off. We both have weeks of vacation time saved up.”

“You know that taking even four weeks is already pushing at SHIELD's limits.”

Clint closes his eyes. Breathes in Phil's scent. He knew these decisions were coming toward them. Knew it even before they decided to try for a baby. But he doesn't know how to make them. He hoped everything would fall into place, but it hasn't. “We'll figure it out.”

Phil sighs. “Better sooner than later. We do need to buy things for the nursery, though.”

Clint hums his assent. That shouldn't be too hard. How much could a newborn need, after all?

**

According the internet, a newborn needs many many things. After a nap, Phil brings his laptop to the bed to get started on buying some essentials. He and Clint stare at the seemingly endless list of recommended items. 

“Maybe we should start with the obvious,” Phil suggests. “Clothes. How about these?”

Phil hovers over a three-pack of onesies that have green, purple, and gray stripes. Clint nods. “Maybe get two of those. And a hat?” Their baby is due in February, after all.

Phil adds a hat to their virtual shopping cart. “Oh, and socks.” He selects tiny socks.

“Diapers. But we can get those later. Umm, one of those reverse backpack thingies that you can carry the baby in? Do they make those for newborns?”

“They should.” Phil runs a search. It takes a few minutes to find a design they both like. “Bottles. And formula, but I have no idea what kind we should get. We can ask Woodhall. Or the daycare.”

“Good idea.” As Phil scrolls through more items, Clint spots a soft-looking blanket. “Let's get this one, too. Do we need a bed...crib...whatever?”

“I thought—I'd like it if he slept with us, at least at first.”

That's perfectly fine with Clint. The idea of having their son by himself in another room makes his chest clench tight. “I like that idea, too. We can always get a bed later.”

The next page is filled with squishy toys and other items to keep babies occupied and calm. Rows of pacifiers come into view.

“What about those?” Phil asks.

Clint hesitates. Some of his earliest memories bubble up in his mind. “I think they're useful.”

“You don't sound convinced.”

Clint twists his hands in his lap. “I don't know if I ever had one, but—” He pauses, embarrassment flashing through him. “I used to suck my thumb. I guess I was pretty old already if I can remember it. If I got caught, I'd get a slap across my hands or my head for it because I was ruining my teeth.”

Phil stills Clint's fingers. “That's not true. About your teeth. You were only trying to comfort yourself.”

“I think my mom just tried to do what she thought was best.”

“Maybe, but there were other ways of doing that than hitting you.” Phil's voice is kind and understanding, but realizing yet another fucked-up thing about his family makes Clint feel uncomfortable. Phil wraps an arm around him, tugging him against his side. “Let's get a few of these pacifiers. And if he prefers his thumb, then that's okay, too.”

“Alright.” It comes out wobbly. 

Phil presses a kiss to his forehead. “We'll figure this out. Even the difficult parts.”

Clint fervently hopes so.

**

At thirty-five weeks, Phil is put under house arrest, as he calls it. He's only half-serious about that designation because he understands Woodhall's recommendation. Their little one has still not entirely caught up on his weight and they don't want to risk Phil going into early labor. Phil can move around the apartment and take short walks outside as long as he takes it easy. He still works a few hours a day until his ops are wrapped, but he doesn't get read into anything new.

Clint takes over Phil's ongoing paperwork—requisition requests, schedules, after-action reports. He's good enough at bureaucracy if he puts his mind to it. Most of the time, he can't be bothered, but it's necessary now—another way to support Phil—so Clint takes up residence in Phil's office at HQ. He has Skype open most days, chatting with Phil. 

Two and a half weeks in, Phil wraps up all of his work. Clint worries that he'll be bored out of his mind. There's only so much to do at home, after all. But Phil takes to it in stride. He reorganizes his Captain America collection and orders more things for the baby, including actual furniture for the nursery. There are color-coded spreadsheets of baby items that Clint stays far away from.

After a particularly long day, Clint fumbles to get the key into the lock. His vision is a little blurry at the edges, but he gets the door open. He's home, at last, and he spots Phil across the room, stretched out on the couch under that fuzzy blanket they got last winter.

When Phil smiles at him, Clint drops his shopping bag, struggles out of his boots, lets his jacket fall to the ground, and is across the room in three steps. 

“Tired?” Phil asks, lifting the blanket so Clint can slip under it.

There isn't much room on the couch due to the strategically placed pillows Phil needs to be comfortable, but Clint manages to fit himself against Phil's side. “You've no idea,” he mumbles. His eyes close as he presses his nose into Phil's neck. A hand tangles in Clint's hair and the warmth that built up under the blanket seeps into his chilled bones. He's never moving again.

“Everything okay at HQ?”

“Can't tell you.”

“You can vaguely tell me if something's gone wrong. I still have my clearance level, after all.”

Clint doubts he has the brain power to string together more than three coherent words. Maybe after a nap. Or twelve hours of sleep. But he's also hungry. He pets the side of Phil's belly. “How's the little hawk?”

“He's good. Punching me a lot, as if that gives him more room.” Phil sounds fond rather than frustrated.

“No arms lodged under ribs?” Yesterday evening, Phil walked around for fifteen minutes, hand pressed against his side, until the baby turned into a more comfortable position.

“Not today.”

Clint lets out an approving noise.

“What did you buy?” Phil asks.

Oh, right. Clint is loathe to move, but he wants to show Phil. “A thing. Stuffed animal thing.” Clint staggers across the room to pick up the bunny he bought. He brings it back to the couch and sets it down on top of Phil's belly, the bunny's legs dangling over the sides. “I liked the ears.” They are floppy and almost as long as the front legs.

“It's very soft.”

Clint wiggles back into his position at Phil's side. “I know he's going to get a ton of stuffed animals but I couldn't leave this one.” He spotted it in the window of an overpriced children's store and walked past, only to turn back a block and a half later.

“Maybe this can be his special bunny.”

Clint runs his fingers along one of the ears. “That'd be nice.” If Phil doesn't stop him, he's going to spoil their kid rotten. But there are so many things Clint never had when he was little, and he wants to make sure their baby has all of them.

“We should probably start talking about names.”

“For the bunny?”

Phil snorts. “No. For the baby. Although we can brainstorm bunny names, too.”

Clint's brain-to-mouth filter is semi-functional at the best of times, but when he's tired, it's mostly off. “No family names.” The moment that's out of his mouth, he realizes that this might offend Phil. “From my family, at least. That'd be asking for trouble.”

“I agree. He should have his own name. Are there any you like?”

There are names that have flitted through Clint's brain. “Maybe we should wait until we meet him.”

Phil turns further toward him. He got quite big in the last few weeks. While Clint misses hugging Phil close, he likes this, too, having the baby between them. “That's a good idea. Kind of hard to decide what name suits him before we've even seen him.”

Clint is glad that Phil agrees with him on this. He wants a name that fits, and they'll have a better chance at picking a good one after the baby is born.

**

A buzzing noise flits at the edge of Clint's consciousness. He has barely opened his eyes when Phil reaches past him, grasping the vibrating phone off the nightstand. Clint's phone.

“Yes,” Phil answers. He sounds too awake for the middle of the night. “He's here. Hold on.” 

Clint takes the phone. “Yeah?”

“Barton, we need you to come in.” It's Hill. Loud voices in the background suggest that something significant has happened. “We have a priority-one target that you need to take out.”

A heavy feeling settles in Clint's chest. This is the call he's been dreading for weeks. He dared to hope it wouldn't come because Phil is so close to giving birth. But of course it would. “Understood. What's the time frame?”

“Wheels up in ninety minutes. Flight time ten hours. Mission duration projected at forty-eight hours.”

Three days, maybe four. That isn't too bad. “On my way.” Clint hangs up. He knows Hill will send a car that will get to their place in less than twenty minutes.

Phil turns on a lamp and slowly gets out of bed. “I'll make some coffee. That way you're semi-functional by the time you get to HQ.”

Knowing that he'll leave Phil alone for a few days, the thought of him in another room sends a spike of panic through Clint. “Don't go. I mean—thanks. But let me grab my things and I'll help. With the coffee.”

Phil gives him a measured look. “How long will you be gone?”

Clint opens the closet to grab his pack and bow case. They're sitting right next to Phil's bag for the hospital. “Four days, max.” Clint stares at the bag, knowing the onesie with the purple stripes is in there along with the little hat and Phil's favorite pajama pants.

A hand settles on Clint's side. “I'll be fine. We'll be fine.” Phil's belly nudges Clint's hip.

Clint almost starts shaking. He takes a deep breath. And another. 

“Hey, look at me.”

Clint turns. Phil's smile is his most reassuring one, the one Clint has seen when he got shot and in other difficult or dangerous moments in the field. It helps, but not much. “What if I'm not back? You're due in ten days. You know how even something simple can go FUBAR.”

“Then let's hope that it won't.”

Clint lays both of his hands on Phil's belly. He wants to feel the baby, but there's nothing. 

“He was really active a little while ago. Woke me up. But he settled down.”

Clint is glad on Phil's behalf. Sleep has become increasingly difficult for him. But he wants to feel a foot press against his palm, or anything, really, any kind of movement, that he can take with him as a memory.

He really needs to pull himself together. He can't arrive at HQ with his emotions bleeding all over the place.

Phil's fingers stroke along his cheek. “I know it's difficult, but they wouldn't have called if they didn't need your skills and the mission wasn't absolutely critical. You took an oath, Clint. There are people out there who need your help.”

“I know. I know I have to go.” He pulls Phil as close to him as he can and kisses him, pouring all his love and worries into the connection he always feels with Phil when they come together like this. A steadiness flows back from Phil that calms Clint.

“I'll make that coffee now,” Phil says. His hands rub up and down Clint's sides. “Okay?”

Clint nods. “I love you.”

Phil presses one last soft kiss to his lips. “Love you, too.”

Clint changes into his tac suit while Phil makes coffee. There is a knock on the door just when Phil hands him the travel mug. Clint desperately wants to hug and kiss Phil again, but he may not leave if he does that. 

With a hand on the door knob, Phil says, “Come back safe.” A look of worry quickly passes over his face.

“I promise.” Clint has never been so determined.

Phil opens the door to Agent Lee, and Clint steps into the hallway without looking back.


	4. Chapter 4

Hill greets Clint when he arrives at HQ. She runs him through the op. Walking through the corridors to the hangar helps Clint's focus, even if the niggling anxiety about Phil remains in the back of his mind no matter how hard he tries to push it away.

As Hill lays out the situation, Clint understands why he got called in. They've been after this target for nearly a year and have never before managed to get intel about his whereabouts in advance. They still won't be able to get closer than two buildings away and the sightlines are all shit. He'll get one shot to take this asshole out. A miss would mean that the target disappears, slipping away from SHIELD's radar for god knows how long since he's both paranoid and extremely effective at moving across the globe without being traced. Taking him out means his organization would likely crumble, ending their involvement in illegal weapons and artifact trading as well as human trafficking. It's exactly the kind of op that motivated Clint to become a SHIELD agent.

The team mills around the Quinjet while it's being checked one last time and equipment is being loaded. Hill picked good people, including Clint's most promising newbie agent. Out of habit, Clint goes over his arsenal of arrows. He won't need any of the weaponized ones, but he likes to be prepared, just in case, especially since he still feels on edge. It's usually easy for him to slip into mission mindset—he even managed that during the few ops he's been on since Phil stopped going into the field. But he finds it hard to shake the lingering sense of unease. Phil is doing well and he can take care of himself for a few days. There are no signs that Phil will go into labor before he's due, and the baby is exactly where he should be at this point.

And yet, Clint feels the pull of his instincts, which tell him that he's not where he ought to be. Phil may be fine, medically speaking, but he's also often uncomfortable, and Clint's presence helps. His touch calms Phil and the baby.

Clint snaps the bow case closed. Phil will be fine. Phil wants him to be here, to do his job. Clint picks up his gear as the team starts up the ramp. He can do this.

Except that there was this brief look on Phil's face. That flash of worry. 

Clint's fingers curl tight around the handle of his bow case. He sets one foot on the ramp of the Quinjet. Then the other. The anxiety he has held back breaks loose and sears through him. He sways. A steadying hand is at his elbow, and Lee asks him if he's okay. He nods, calling up every single mental trick he's been taught to keep a clear head in a situation such as this. He focuses on the team preparing for take-off, stowing gear and crack jokes. 

It doesn't help. He's never felt the bond he shares with Phil manifest in a way other than a flood of emotions, but he can feel it now, like a hook that has sunk into his chest.

Clint takes a step back. “I'm sorry,” he tells Lee. He turns and walks off the ramp, turning toward Hill, who's conferring with the team of analysts assigned to this mission. When she spots him, she frowns. Walking toward him, she says, “Is there a problem?”

“I can't go. I'd endanger the entire op.” Clint knows it's the right decision, but he still feels like a complete failure. 

“Phil?” Hill asks, keeping her voice low.

Clint looks down at his boots. “Yeah.” He forces himself to look up. “Let Kinsley take the shot.”

Hill's eyebrows rise. “It's his first time in the field. That hardly seems appropriate. Maybe Ward—”

“No. Kinsley has a feel for it. I've trained him. He gets it. If there's anyone on the team who can even come close to getting that shot right, it's him.” Clint is certain of that.

Hill seems to believe him. “Do you want to inform the team?”

“I'd rather get home.”

“Understood. I'll explain.”

Clint is grateful. Hill could suspend him for this, even with the generous policies SHIELD has in place for bonded partners. He nods at her and hastens out of the hangar.

As Clint walks along the corridors, he realizes that Phil will be disappointed. While they've both taken more liberties with prioritizing SHIELD over their personal lives in the last few months, they are both still active agents, and that means a lot, especially to Phil. Clint let many people down by refusing to go—there's a good chance he put the mission at risk. Sure, he has a reason, but when Phil finds out that Clint didn't go because of him, he will be upset. Perhaps if Phil wasn't doing well, he'd be okay with it. But he's fine. 

Clint pauses at the turn he has to take to request a ride home. He turns into the other direction instead, making his way to Phil's office. He lets himself inside and sits on the couch without switching on the light. Clint wants to be near Phil—he can still feel that ache in his chest. But he also doesn't want to tell Phil what he's done. Doesn't want to see that look of disappointment on Phil's face. 

Clint sits in the dark for a long time. Thoughts bubble up that haven't crossed his mind in years. About how he can't get things right and lets everyone down around him. How he doesn't live up to his Alpha potential because he doesn't push forward aggressively enough and lets his feelings get a better of him. It makes him want to find a corner to curl into, make himself small and invisible.

His phone buzzes. It's a message from Phil. Seeing the photo of Phil that comes up with the message makes Clint feel a little better. He took that picture a few weeks ago, right after they woke up. Phil looks sleepy but content, half of his face hidden by a pillow. 

Clint opens the text. _You must be in the air by now. Safe trip. You're in my thoughts. See you very soon._

There's nothing special about the text, but it fills Clint with such longing that he's on his feet and out the door before he fully realizes what he's doing. He'll deal with Phil's disappointment as long as that means he can be right next to him.

It takes half an hour to find an agent who can drive Clint home. It is 3:30am, after all. When Clint finally unlocks the apartment door, he hears the click of a gun safety being taken off. He half-hides behind the door and calls out, “It's me. It's Clint.” He steps into the apartment and spots Phil a few feet away with his gun drawn. It takes another second until he lowers it.

“What are you doing here?” Phil asks.

“I'm going to turn on the light.” Clint hits the switch. Phil looks tense. Not a surprise if he expected someone to break into their place. He can't answer Phil's question.

“Did the mission get called off?”

Clint shakes his head. “I—I couldn't. Couldn't go.”

“Hill took you off the op?” Phil sounds incredulous.

Clint's cheeks heat with embarrassment. Of course Phil would think that the only reason Clint wouldn't be able to go would be him being barred from the mission. “No.”

Phil slides his gun on the breakfast bar and steps closer. “Then what?”

Clint sets down his bow case and his pack. He looks at Phil and feels the tug in his chest again. Purely on instinct, he reaches for Phil, who lets himself be pulled close. Clint slides one arm around his shoulders and another around his waist, closing his eyes as Phil's arms come around him. The world rights itself. Clint is back where he belongs. 

“What happened?” Phil asks softly.

“I had to come back. I couldn't leave you. I'm sorry. I know I fucked up. I should have gone. 's my job, after all.” Clint hopes Phil won't be too angry with him.

Phil moves away far enough to look at Clint, who keeps his eyes averted. “You came back for me?”

He doesn't sound angry. “I did. I was going to go. But then—there was this—this feeling...” Clint presses his fingers to his chest. “It hurt, and I couldn't get on the plane.”

Phil mirrors Clint's gesture. “Like something was digging in and pulling?”

“Yeah.”

Phil folds his fingers over Clint's. “I felt that, too. That's why I sent you the text. Which I know was stupid and unprofessional, but...” He shrugs. “Couldn't help myself.”

“You're not disappointed that I bailed on the op?”

“Why would I be disappointed?”

Clint swallows. “Because I refused a direct request to assist in a crucial op. Not exactly exemplary behavior.”

“You'd never excuse yourself from your duties if it wasn't for very good reasons.” Phil sounds absolutely convinced of that. “I know how seriously you take your work. I'm not disappointed.” He pauses. “In fact, I'm glad you came back.”

“You are?” This is the last thing Clint expected to hear.

Phil looks at their clasped hands. “Didn't take long to realize that letting you go was a mistake. I probably wouldn't have slept the entire time you would have been gone, and that—well, that would have been rather bad.”

Clint understands suddenly that there are certain things you don't mess with. He should have listened to his instincts. They both should have. Time and again during the pregnancy, they've faced moments like this, their instincts at odds with their sense of duty. You'd think they would have learned that lesson by now. “In that case, I'm glad I came back, too. Even if Hill suspends me.”

“Well, you're off duty for four weeks starting next week anyway. Doesn't really matter. Besides, I don't think she will.”

Phil's right. It doesn't matter. SHIELD doesn't matter—can't matter to them for the next few weeks. “Let's go back to bed.” Clint wants to curl around Phil and sleep for a million years. 

“That's an excellent suggestion.”

Clint strips out of the tac suit while Phil arranges pillows to support various parts of his body. Getting into bed, Clint takes care not to disturb that careful arrangement. He folds himself around Phil. As every night, he sneaks a hand under Phil's T-shirt to draw wide arcs over his belly. As Phil relaxes against him, the last traces of Clint's anxiety melt away.

**

Kinsley doesn't get a kill shot, but he causes a severe injury that will keep their target confined to a particular location for a few days and will slow him down after that. It's not a clear win for SHIELD, but it isn't a loss, either.

Clint can live with that.

**

A week later, Clint wakes up slowly. He's only been on leave for a few days, but he's already come to cherish sleeping in as long as he wants and floating up into consciousness instead of the harsh instant alertness that is the start of most of his days. Phil is next to him, curled close to Clint.

They've been keeping within easy reach of one another for most of the past week. At first Clint thought it was an outcome of him almost leaving Phil behind to go on that mission. But when the need to be so close to Phil lingers more than a day, Clint feels a little freaked out. Phil notices, of course, and hands him one of the parenting books. It seems that there are primal instincts at work, driving Clint to keep an eye on Phil at all times in case someone or something threatens his well-being or he goes into labor. Clint worries about crowding Phil, but Phil seeks him out just as much. 

For now, Clint doesn't want to get up. He knows that lazy mornings in bed may not happen again for quite a while and he's determined to enjoy this one. He turns a little further toward Phil until his nose touches the soft hair at the crown of Phil's head. Phil lets out a pleased noise and reaches for Clint's hand, guiding it down to the lowest point of his belly, where the baby's head rests. Phil felt him turn into the position yesterday, and they both know what that means.

Clint rubs gentle circles into Phil's skin. “How're you feeling?”

“Fine. Still a little tired. Or—hazy. But good.”

“Wanna sleep some more?”

“No. But let's not get up yet.”

Clint is all for that. “Are you nervous?”

It takes Phil a moment to answer. “Yes and no. There are always risks and we've been waiting to meet him for such a long time. I want it all to go well. But the staff at Medical is excellent and we've been through way worse in far less ideal circumstances. You?”

“Same. I want you to be okay. Both of you.” He also doesn't want Phil to be in too much pain or to be scared about what's happening to him, but he doesn't have much control over that. 

“We will be.”

Clint kisses the top of Phil's head and his cheek and his lips, his Alpha instincts singing when Phil opens easily for him, needy noises slipping out as Clint licks into his mouth. They haven't really had sex in the last few weeks, but that drive that brought them first together is still there, simmering just beneath the surface.

They get out of bed eventually. Clint notices Phil pressing his hands into the small of his back with a groan. “Bad?” he asks.

Phil waves him off. “Not worse than usual.”

They go through their morning routine—showers and coffee and cereal—and Clint notices that Phil's hand strays to his back more often than before. “Are you sure your back is okay?”

“It's this twinge that comes and goes, but it's fine. Just three more days, right? I can live with that.”

Clint believes him. Phil has been good about telling him when he has been particularly uncomfortable. Still, he kneads his fingers into Phil's tense muscles when they settle on the couch after breakfast. It seems to help, and for a while, Phil seems comfortable. 

At least until Phil sucks in a breath all of a sudden, his hands digging into the couch cushions.

Clint drops his tablet. “You okay?”

Phil shakes his head. “Might be more than—than back pain,” he bites out between sharp breaths.

“Oh shit. Fuck, really?” Phil nods. Fuck. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. Of course the baby is at term, but still. Clint feels around for his phone. It seems to have disappeared into the depths of the couch. When Phil whimpers, he abandons his search. “It's okay. I'm here. Right here.” He leans close to Phil, stroking over his cheek and down his neck. It seems to help a little. “I'm gonna call Medical, okay? So they can come get us.”

Phil buries his face in Clint's neck. “Don'go.” The movement bares Phil's neck. Makes him vulnerable in Clint's Alpha eyes.

“Okay. Not leaving.” Clint has never really read in depth about labor because they'd planned to be at the hospital by then. But he knows contractions come and go. He needs to get Phil through this wave and then he can make the call.

He strokes over Phil's neck again when he notices the bump that's not supposed to be there anymore since they bonded. He pushes Phil's T-shirt out of the way and sees the gland swollen under the scar. Before Clint fully registers it, he has closed his palm over it and is pushing down gently. It feels right to do this—he knows with a deep certainty that it'll help Phil.

After a minute a minute of gentle squeezes, Phil becomes less tense and his breathing evens out. “Wha's happening?” He sounds dazed.

“Seems like nature has a few tricks up her sleeve for getting you through this. Better?”

“Hmm-mm.” 

Phil looks a lot more at ease. It makes Clint feel calmer, too. “Alright. Let's call Medical.” He keeps an arm around Phil while he fishes his phone out from the back of the couch.

He's glad he added their number to his phone and can reach it with a few taps. The woman he talks to promises that a medical transport gets dispatched right away and will be at their apartment in twenty minutes. She also promises to call Woodhall and let him know that Phil's in labor. 

The paramedics arrive sooner than Clint expected. He appreciates that both of them signal very clearly when approaching Phil and spell out exactly what they're doing to him. Clint still feels like pushing them out of the way, away from Phil. 

On the way to HQ, the pain seems to get worse. Phil tries to turn onto his side, straining toward Clint. The paramedic reaches for Phil, and Clint pushes her back. He's mortified, but she holds up her hands and moves a little farther away.

“You two have a strong bond,” she observes.

Clint helps Phil to settle again. “Guess so.” Phil tugs on his wrist, drawing him close enough that their noses bump. Phil's soft whimpers make Clint feel shaky and unsettled. How are they not there yet? The ride already feels too long. Clint thumbs over the gland again, small steady circles until Phil quiets. There's a faraway look in Phil's eyes, much like when Medical has him on the really good stuff after a serious injury.

“Good work,” the paramedic says. “Some Alphas don't figure this out on their own.”

Clint ducks his head. He's essentially drugging Phil with his own hormones. While that makes labor more bearable, Clint feels uneasy about it nevertheless.

When they finally arrive at HQ's Medbay entrance, the usual chaos surrounds them. As on any other day, Medical deals with emergencies of several degrees. There are doctors and nurses rushing past them, pushing gurneys and yelling vitals at one another. It's so familiar that Clint breathes a little easier.

Phil gets taken away to be prepped for surgery, but there's a window through which Clint can watch while he's cleaning up and getting into scrubs. The nurse who is helping him is very kind about Clint's jitters and narrates what is being done to Phil. It doesn't lessen the thrumming need of wanting to be back at Phil's side, but it gives Clint something to focus on.

Woodhall steps into the room when Clint is almost done. “Ready?”

“Gotta be, right?”

Woodhall smiles. “Everything looks good. Phil and the baby will be fine.”

That's reassuring.

“I know we went over the procedure before, but did you and Phil talk ever talk about the possibility of wanting more children?”

Clint feels blindsided. Some days—okay, most days—he still can barely wrap his head around having one kid. “Not really. Why?”

“There are different ways of closing Phil up after we deliver the baby. If you want to make sure he'll be able to carry another child, we need to know that.”

Clint stares through the window. “Shouldn't we ask him?”

Woodhall steps next to him. “Ideally, yes. But Phil's under the influence of natural and artificial hormones now, so he's not the most lucid.”

“I don't—I don't know. What Phil wants. It's never come up.” The need to be next to Phil grows stronger. Having this baby is already so much more than either of them had hoped for. Would Phil want more kids? He never mentioned it. But he also never said he wouldn't want more. “Is there any risk in keeping our options open? I don't want to decide for him. I can't.” Clint would never forgive himself if it turned out that Phil wants another baby and had that choice taken away from him.

“No. It's a more delicate way of finishing the surgery, that's all.”

“Then do that.”

Woodhall nods. He squeezes Clint's shoulder. “You've done a great job so far. Once we're in there, go with what feels right. You'll know how to help Phil.”

“Thanks,” Clint mumbles. He certainly hopes Woodhall is right about that.

The bright lights in the OR hurt Clint's eyes for moment. Once they adjust, he is next to Phil in quick steps. Someone pushes a stool his way, and Clint sits, wheeling as close to Phil as he can.

Phil immediately reaches for Clint with his free hand, a needy sound rasping low in his throat. 

“Hey, I'm here, shh, you're okay.” Clint squeezes his hand and brings their entwined hands up to rest against Phil's chest. He cradles Phil's head with his other hand, thumb slowly swiping over Phil's temple.

“Feel weird,” Phil whispers.

“I know. They've given you things to make sure you're not hurting, remember?” Clint hopes he's doing this right. Even as calm and collected as Phil usually is, he has to be scared a little. 

“Yeah. 's all good. Can't feel a—a thing.”

Clint hears a faint 'let's start' from the other side of the surgery screen. “That's good. And you're fine. Woodhall told me. Everything's okay.”

Phil nods. “Glad you're here.”

“Me too, babe. Won't be long now.”

“Still don't have a name.”

Clint manages a smile. “We'll find the best name once we've spent some time with him. You'll see.”

Phil smiles back at him, but it fades fast. A frown replaces it. He turns his head toward Clint, his nose nudging Clint's cheek. 

“You okay? Phil?” Clint glances around to get a read on the mood in the room. Everyone seems focused on their tasks, nothing out of the ordinary taking place.

“'m good. Baby's coming.”

“That's right, they're helping to get the baby out. So we can meet him. Are you excited about that? See his face. And his hands. Hope he has your hands.” Clint knows he's talking nonsense, but he wants Phil to listen to his voice and tune everything else out. The conversation behind the surgery screens has gone up in intensity.

“Love y'r hands.”

“Yeah, you do. Just a little longer now. You're doing so well.” Clint leans in to nuzzle Phil and whisper praises directly in his ear.

He continues talking to Phil and stroking his cheek, creating a little world for the two of them in which Phil can feel safe.

“Here we go,” Woodhall's voice rings out. A moment later, “Here's your son.”

Clint jerks his head up. Woodhall's holding a tiny baby over the screen, streaked with gunk and waving his arms. “Phil, look.”

Phil blinks and gasps. “Is he okay?”

“Looking good so far.” Woodhall lowers the baby back behind the screen. “Give us a minute and then you can hold him.”

Clint presses a kiss to Phil's temple and squeezes his eyes shut against the prickling he can feel. He didn't expect this instant wave of relief and joy. He can hardly breathe against the force with which it slams into his body.

“Where is he?” Phil's voice sounds small and anxious.

Clint pulls back and looks around. He can see two nurses bent over the baby on a table nearby. Clint rolls out Phil's line of sight. “He's right there. D'you see him? They're just making sure he's alright.”

“Want to hold him. Please.”

“In a sec. Promise. They're only keeping him as long as they need.”

When the baby starts crying, Clint can feel Phil's anxiety pouring through their bond. Clint strokes over Phil's hair. He doesn't want their baby to be away from them, either, but he's not under a cloud of hormones that most likely makes that the only thought in Phil's mind.

“Why're they not giving him to me?”

The hurt in Phil's voice lances into Clint's chest. His instincts roar to protect both Phil and their child. To make sure that their baby is with them, where he belongs. He lets his instincts flow through him, but also keeps his rational mind alert. He can see that the nurses' movements are efficient yet delicate. Working as quickly as possible. “They will. They need to check that he's healthy. That's a good thing.” He needs to hear that as much as Phil does.

One of the nurses swaddles the baby in a white cloth and pulls a tiny hat on. When she picks him up and walks over to Clint, his heart nearly leaps out of his chest. 

“Alright, Clint, hold out your arms.”

Clint only shakes a little as the nurse places the baby into his arms. He takes a brief look at the little face, trying to understand that it exists because of a decision he and Phil made. The baby's eyes are squeezed shut; Clint wonders what color they are. If they're same gorgeous blue-gray as Phil's eyes. “Here,” Clint murmurs as he gently places their son on Phil's chest.

Phil's trembling fingers comes up to trace over tiny cheeks. “Hi, baby. We've waited a long time to meet you.”

Clint's vision goes blurry and he bites back a sob. He wants to tell Phil so many things, about how tiny the baby is—even smaller than Clint expected—and how grateful he is that Phil wanted to him as much as Clint did, and how strange it is to suddenly be able to see the baby and touch him after months of feeling him inside of Phil, but Clint can't get any words out.

Clint drops his head to Phil's shoulder, trying to anchor himself in the warmth of his skin and the familiar scent. He stops holding back his tears, and hears Phil sniffling, too. Clint gives himself another minute, no longer caring that he's broken out into no-holds-barred sobbing. 

“You okay?” Phil asks softly.

Clint lets out an affirmative noise. He gulps in air and straightens, wiping the back of his hands over his eyes. Phil's looking at him with much fondness and a tiny smile, tear tracks down his cheeks. He has a protective hand folded over the baby's side. 

“Love you so much,” Clint whispers. 

Phil's smile widens.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint slowly floats toward wakefulness. He is slumped against Phil's side, face leaning against his shoulder. The lethargy of deep sleep lingers in Clint's bones, and he is happy to drift a while longer.

Lips brush against Clint's forehead. “Hey. Had a good nap?”

“Yeah. Still feel tired. How're you?”

“I'm good.” There's genuine happiness in those words. Underneath them, there's another sound that becomes clearer once Phil stops talking. 

Clint opens his eyes. The source of the soft smacking noise is right in front of him: the baby, settled comfortably in Phil's arms, sucking on a bottle of formula. “Someone's hungry.”

“You should have seen him with the first bottle a few hours ago. That was gone in no time.”

Clint straightens out of his slump. “Shit, how long was I out?”

“Maybe four hours. You fell asleep right after we got settled in bed. I didn't want to wake you.”

“Did you get some sleep, too?” Clint feels like a total heel, sleeping away their son's first feeding. It's not as if he's done much aside from comfort Phil, who did all the actual work of having the baby.

“Some. It's fine.”

Taking a deep breath, Clint decides that what's done is done. Phil and the baby are doing well, and that's most important. Clint reaches for a tiny foot that's sticking out from the purple blanket they bought weeks ago. It's not even as big as his thumb. “He's so little.”

“He's right in the middle of the normal range for full-term babies in terms of weight and height.”

“That's good.” Clint gently holds on to their son's foot until the bottle is empty and Phil shifts him to his shoulder. Clint watches Phil, who looks like he's done this a thousand times already, rubbing the baby's back in just the right way until he burps and then swiftly moving him back into his arms.

“You should take him. He hasn't had that much interaction with you.”

“Yeah, okay.” Clint wants to hold his son—very much so, in fact—but he's also nervous. What if he doesn't like him as much as Phil? Or he can't provide the same comfort that the baby seems to get from Phil?

Phil eyes him. “Maybe take off your shirt.”

“I don't think you're asking about that for the benefit of the baby.”

Phil gives his leg a light smack. “It'll be easier for him to pick up your scent.”

“Right.” Clint isn't sure why that's important, but he tugs his T-shirt over his head anyway.

“Lay down,” Phil instructs. Once Clint has settled against the pillows, Phil lowers the baby to his chest. “He'll like listening to your heartbeat.”

Clint tucks the blanket into place around small arms and legs. His hands feel clumsy and too big when he rests one over the baby's head and the other on his lower back. Clint almost doesn't dare to breathe until he's sure that the move from Phil to him won't lead to a screaming fit. But the baby seems content in his arms, and Phil gives him an encouraging nod.

When the door opens, Clint tenses at the unwanted intrusion.

A nurse sticks her head into the room. “Everything alright in here?”

“We're good,” Phil replies. 

“I'll get this—” She points at the empty bottle on the nightstand. “And then I'll be out of your hair until he's hungry again.” She hurries across the room, picks up the bottle, and disappears just as quickly.

Clint frowns at her head-to-toe scrubs, including gloves. “Should I be concerned?”

“No. Just making sure she doesn't interrupt our scent-bonding with the baby.”

Clint snorts. “I gotta say, Medical is the last place I'd have suspected to buy into that old wives' tale.”

Phil gives him a strange look. “It's not an old wives' tale.”

“Oh, come on. Of course it is.”

“It's—Clint, who made you believe that?” Phil sounds troubled, like he genuinely believes that scent-bonding is a real thing. Which it isn't. 

Right?

“I figured...the way movies and everyone always go on about it, it's one of those things that—that's this ideal, but isn't really true.”

The way Phil's face goes soft and sympathetic says it all, and Clint feels like he's been punched. “It's a real thing. There are studies.” Phil's words are careful; hesitant, even.

Clint can't look at him. The baby suddenly seems to weigh a ton, pressing Clint down into the bed when Clint could barely feel him before. 

“It's an important moment,” Phil continues. “He internalizes our scent so that he knows we're his parents. It happens in the first forty-eight hours after birth, and it's important that he isn't exposed to too many people.” His hand settles on Clint's arm. “I remember climbing into my mom's or dad's lap when I was little and feeling like nothing could happen to me. The scent-bonding is a big part of what makes that happen.”

Clint has no comparable memories. In fact, the only person who's ever made him feel like that is right next to him. And maybe Barney, but there's too much pain layered over the memory of him. Clint certainly never felt that way with his parents. His eyes sting, and he wants to get away from this, hide in some corner, but he's still holding the baby. “Can you—please take him.”

Phil picks up the baby, who whimpers when he's lifted off Clint's chest. The sound physically hurts, but Clint turns away nevertheless, facing away from Phil to curl up at the edge of the bed. He bites his lips and presses a hand against his mouth. He hates that he can't push away the sadness and sense of loss that well up in him. Most of the time, he's angry at the shitty job his parents did with taking care of him, which is a lot easier to deal with than this.

It's all too easy to jump from this to doubts about how he's going to manage taking care of a kid when he doesn't even know the most basic things. He needs to read those parenting books when they get home. Who knows what else he missed out on—what he doesn't know that's apparent to everyone else. 

A hand settles on Clint's nape, fingers gently twisting in his hair. Clint focuses on the soothing motion. Instead of making him feel better, it only serves as a reminder of how long he went without this kind of comfort in his life. 

“I'll hold you if you come closer,” Phil whispers.

Right, Phil can't move much. Clint hesitates. He still wants to hide himself away, tucked tightly into a small space. But he wants Phil's comfort, too.

Eventually, Clint rolls over. The baby's sleeping on Phil's chest. 

Phil holds out his arm. “It's okay.”

Clint takes care not to jostle the baby or to touch Phil's stomach as he stretches out along his side. He presses his face into Phil's neck, picking up on his scent and the immediate comfort it brings. It seems so obvious now that this is something they need to do for their child as well.

“I'm sorry,” Phil says. “I didn't realize you wouldn't know. I should've been able to guess, maybe.”

Phil has an extensive insight into Clint's childhood, but it seems that there is neglect that even Clint wasn't aware of. “I don't think anyone gave a shit about whether or not I properly scent-bonded with my parents. Pretty sure they kicked my mom out of the hospital after a day because they had no money.”

Phil doesn't say anything, but his hand draws firm strokes down Clint's back.

Clint studies the little face a few inches away from him. The slack mouth, and the small fist resting on Phil's chest. “I just want to do right by him.”

“You will.”

Clint doesn't share Phil's confidence, but he's going to try his hardest to live up to it.

**

The next two days are somewhat of a blur. Clint is used to not getting much sleep when he's on a mission, but then he has adrenaline to keep going. This is different. There is so much new information—not just what the nurses tell them about how to handle the baby, but also trying to interpret tiny frowns, plaintive wails, and all-out crying fits. A lot of the time, food or a new diaper is the solution, but at other times, neither he nor Phil can figure out what to do to make the crying stop. That's the worst. Clint so desperately wants to help and comfort, and it breaks his heart that he can't think of the right thing to do to stop whatever is bothering his son. He seems to like it when Clint carries him around and hums, so that's what Clint does. A lot.

They've just finished another round of endless loops around their room. Phil falls asleep as soon as the baby quiets down. Clint continues walking for another ten minutes just to make sure that everything is really okay, watching heavy rain slant against the window. He's been waiting for the rain to turn into snow, but whenever he's been awake in the last day, the same icy rain poured from the sky.

He sits down on the bed, careful not to disturb Phil. He realizes that the baby is still awake, and he settles him in his lap. Even Clint's arms get tired. He leans closer until the baby's eyes begin to track him.

“Hey there. Feeling better now?”

Blue eyes calmly look back at him.

“Yeah, you do. We'll take you home today. That'll be nice, right? This place is pretty nice, too, but it's always better to be home. You'll see.” He nudges against a small hand and smiles when the baby holds on tight. “Nice, firm grip. Good job.”

With his other hand, he gently pets the baby's belly, his legs, and his feet. When Clint pushes against a foot, he gets a push back. They do that a couple of times, almost like a game. It's probably all based on reflexes, but it makes Clint laugh nevertheless. He can't wait to figure out more about his son. If he's quiet and serious but also filled with mischief, like Phil, or maybe more like him. When Woodhall asked them yesterday if they want to run an early test to predict where their son will likely fall on the alpha-beta-omega spectrum, they declined. Clint is glad that Phil was equally steadfast about this decision. While the test is mostly accurate, Clint doesn't want to raise their son with any sort of expectation of who he should be. Not after Clint struggled with those expectations most of his life.

A hand taps his side. He turns to see Phil awake again. Clint catches Phil's hand and brings it up to the side of his face. Phil presses his palm against Clint's cheek.

“You okay?” He asks. “You looked like you have things on your mind.”

Clint closes his eyes for a brief moment. “Just random stuff. Can't wait to go home.”

Phil sighs. “I keep thinking about our bed. Probably because I expect that when we get home, we get to catch up on sleep. Then I remember that this isn't like coming home from any other stay in Medical.”

Clint studies Phil face. He looks tired, but not unhappy. “It's still so crazy, isn't it? Having an actual kid. Right here. Who'll come home with us.”

“Too late to have any regrets now.”

Clint collects Phil's hand and holds it between both of his. “That's not what I meant. It just still hits me sometimes.” Words fail him. Maybe that's a good thing. He's said that he's grateful for having a family with Phil about a million times before, after all. 

Phil squeezes his hand. “I get it.” The hushed reverence in his voice underlines how much he does indeed understand.

Clint clears his throat. Woodhall's due any moment with their discharge papers, and he doesn't need to see Clint being overly emotion again. “Still need a name.” The form where they're supposed to fill in the baby's name has sat untouched on the nightstand for the last two days. “Might as well call him Noah considering he's been born into what feels like the deluge.”

Phil is oddly quiet.

“What?” It wasn't that bad of a joke.

“I like that. The name. It's...” Phil looks at their son. “It has strength behind it.”

“Really?” Clint turns his eyes toward the baby as well, wondering if he looks like a Noah. “I've never met anyone with that name, so that's a plus.”

“Neither have I.”

They fall silent. Clint weighs the name in his mind. There's blank space, mostly, and a half-remembered story about the ark. But he doesn't have the immediate sense that it's the wrong name, which he's had with every other possibility they've run through so far. He glances at Phil, who looks back at him with hope.

“So, yes?” he asks.

Clint's stomach flips oddly. It's such a huge responsibility. There are nicknames, of course, but essentially, they're deciding on something that will stick with their son for the rest of his life. “Yeah?”

Phil smiles. “Noah.”

Clint likes the way the name sounds when Phil says it. He leans down to nuzzle a tiny cheek. “Hey, Noah.” Arms flail against his chin. “Yeah, that's you. Hopefully you'll like it.”

“Want me to fill out the form?” Phil asks.

“Can you? Your handwriting is so much nicer than mine.”

“Yours is perfectly acceptable.” Phil starts filling in boxes with neat letters.

Phil is halfway through the form when Woodhall walks in with their discharge papers. Clint leaves his signature on half a dozen dotted lines, trusting Phil to have read whatever he hands to Clint to sign. Woodhall checks over Phil and the baby—Noah—one last time and then tells them that a SHIELD agent will drive them home.

Once everyone has left, they get ready. The infant car seat Phil ordered online looks confusing at first—a mess of padding and buckles, but Clint manages to get Noah strapped in without upsetting him. He spreads the purple blanket over him and lays Mr. Bunny over his feet, safely out of reach.

“Could you...” Phil points to the sneakers by his feet.

“'Course.” Clint kneels down and guides Phil's feet into the shoes, tying the laces afterward. “Want me to help with your sweater and coat, too?”

Phil hesitates, but then nods. “That'd be good.”

Helping Phil get dressed is familiar. They've both had injuries before that restricted their mobility, so Clint knows the best way to get Phil's arms into sleeves and the sweater over his head. The coat is easier. Phil can mostly pull it on himself, but he lets Clint do the buttons because they start just above his knees.

Once they're ready, Clint picks up the carrier and a few other miscellaneous things—diaper bag, their go bag for the hospital, a bag with gifts, and Mr. Bunny, lest he fall off the carrier and into a puddle. Clint leaves other odds and ends for an agent to grab and bring to the car. 

Phil gestures at the bag with gifts. “I can take that. It's not heavy.”

Clint turns out of Phil's reach. “You're not carrying anything.” When Phil opens his mouth to protest, Clint adds, “Please. I don't want you to hurt yourself.” Phil's been walking around a little, but Clint suspects that the distance to the car will be enough of a challenge.

Phil steps closer and presses a kiss to Clint's lips. “I know you're right. But I need those reminders to realize that.”

Clint regrets having his hands full. He has missed hugging Phil—that full-body kind of hug—these last few months, and now Phil stands right in front of him. Clint's chest aches with how much he wants Phil in his arms. He mumbles, “Let's go,” and turns toward the door.

It's a slow walk to the car, but Phil doesn't seem to be in too much pain. Noah takes all the new surroundings in stride, for which Clint is grateful. It's enough of a challenge to get him settled, and then get Phil settled, stow all their stuff, and finally get on the road. Clint sits up front, but can't help turning every two minutes to make sure Phil and Noah are fine.

Noah falls asleep half a mile from their building, but by some miracle, they get him up to the apartment without waking him. Phil manages to take off his jacket while Clint and Agent Kinsley unload the car.

At last, Clint stands next to Phil in their living room, Noah and way too many bags at their feet.

Phil smiles at Clint, and Clint's longing from earlier flares up. He settles a hand on Phil's hip. “Can I...” He stops right in front of Phil.

“Yes?” There's amusement in Phil's eyes.

Carefully, Clint gathers Phil into his arms. He slides an arm around his waist, and another around his shoulder. Their bodies align in the most minute way. “This okay?”

Phil drops his head to Clint's shoulder. The exhale that follows runs through his entire body. It's answer enough.

Clint closes his eyes. This is what he's wanted—what he missed the most in the last few months of the pregnancy. He runs the pads of his fingers over Phil's nape, drawing a contented hum out of him. 

“D'you remember, after my first heat, when we were standing in the kitchen?” Phil asks softly.

“When we were both really stupid about dealing with what just happened? Yeah, I remember.” Clint recalls clearly how far away Phil seemed even though he was only a few feet away.

Phil turns his head to nose along Clint's jaw, much like he'd done then, after they realized they didn't want to go separate ways after that heat. “You did the same thing then. Put a hand on my side. Pulled me close.” Phil's voice drops to a whisper. “Felt like coming home.”

Clint squeezes his eyes shut. He's never been able to put into words how he felt when Phil asked him not only to stay, but to bond during their next shared heat. Home is the perfect word for it—Phil's been his home for a long time. The feeling is only stronger now. Clint presses a kiss against the side of Phil's neck.

They stay like this, wrapped up in one another, until an unhappy sound from below makes them both freeze. When no wail follows, Clint says a silent thank you. “We should probably sleep while he sleeps.” 

“Yes. Absolutely.” Phil smiles at Noah and then directs the same bright expression at Clint. “Let's go to bed.”


End file.
